Splashes and the shrieks of children’s laughter filled the air as the sun beat down upon my head, which was swiveling back and forth, trying to catch the blurred faces around me before they slipped into the water. I was responsible for watching over the country club pool in the sweltering heat of July, and while I had lifeguarded before, it was nothing like this. Kids raced around the pool deck, sneaking around to break the rules, while their parents sipped drinks and gossiped, dressed in tennis clothes and bikinis. My stomach was in knots, and my face was flushed with nerves. I didn’t know anyone, and on my first day, meeting people was the least of my priorities.

When I first arrived at the pool, my boss gave me some tips. “Keep a close eye on children in the water, watch teenagers for dangerous behavior, make sure senior citizens can access a railing, and monitor adults.” Using this, I categorized the people I had to watch. I checked the group of little girls in the kiddie pool to make sure they could swim. I spent extra seconds watching teenagers jump into the pool, ensuring they didn’t break a rule or their necks. My eyes focused on the group of boys playing football, assuming I had to watch them closely on account of their age. I did this for everyone in the pool, where I stereotyped people by age, the people surrounding them, and their actions.

The summer flew by as the days became longer and hotter, and then began to cool back down. Each day was another learning experience, and I felt myself growing as a result of the people around me. While checking people in, I learned their names, and from asking kids questions I learned about their lives. I learned people’s habits from spending time with them, and I learned things they loved from listening to their stories. I even realized how much people desire to share who they are, and how much joy I can bring by simply taking the time to listen.

Eventually the summer came to a close. As I monitored the pool, I saw that the two girls having a cannonball competition were Ellie and Elliot, sisters who wanted to join the swim team next summer. The teenage boys speed walking between chairs were the Nickleson’s, and they were excited about their trip to Arizona in October. The older lady on the stairs was Ms. Johnson, who was an amazing golfer but now spends most of her time caring for her grandchildren. The man in the lounger was Mr. Miller, watching his toddler and newborn baby while his wife played tennis next door. I even recognized Ms. Hughes, tanning in the back cabana. I knew who was a strong swimmer and who struggled in the water, not because of who they appeared to be, but because of their backgrounds, stories, and lives. I understood that everyone was different, and they each had a variety of experiences that made them who they are today. In only a summer, I discovered so much about people and who they really were, just by taking the time to get to know them. By sharing their stories with me, the people at the pool changed how I viewed them. l. As I looked out over the water, shining like glass in the setting sun, I realized that the faces in the pool no longer blurred, and I no longer saw strangers surrounding me.

I believe that in America, we go through life so quickly and meet so many people that we stereotype and categorize those around us, often without intending to. Our country is filled with diversity, but we can only accept and value others for who they really are when we look past our first impressions, and take the time to truly understand people as individuals. Everyone’s story matters.

© Kaitlyn. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.